


Fly me to the Moon

by thedissonantnote



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:04:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4949506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedissonantnote/pseuds/thedissonantnote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You leaned in, and so did she, and a moment later your lips were on hers and nothing mattered anymore. Not your family, not your husband-not even the fact you were kissing a woman, for crying out loud! It simply felt right, as if every moment of your whole life had been preparing you for this moment preparing you to feel this feeling, one you've never felt before and didn't want you unless it was for her.</p>
<p>Maybe sometimes it's less about thinking, and more about feeling, isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fly me to the Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AryaStark22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AryaStark22/gifts).



> Someone once told me the best you can do to someone is inspire them. Well, you inspired me to write this.
> 
> This is for you, cupcake. I hope you like it.

It was really hot when you finally got back home. Your husband had been killed the night before, and you had spent the whole morning answering question to the Royal Guard about his incredibly mysterious death. You had woken up in the morning only to find his body lying on the ground, his head a few feet away. You had panicked, logically, and had gone running downstairs, getting out of the mansion and finding a small group of guards on patrol. They had taken care of the body, and had asked you a few questions. You didn't really have any memories of that night, except the strange image of a girl in a white dress jumping out the window, which is what you had told the guards. Needless to say, they looked unconvinced, but let you go anyway. You don't remember the girl's face either, only her long dark hair and white dress-which didn't really help your case. She, if real, could literally be anyone; you didn't even see her face, or at least you don't remember.

You sat down in the living room. It was a big room, filled with paintings; there was a fireplace right next to you, a black piano in the corner, and a giant portrait of you and your husband behind it. You put your hands on your legs, and looking at the portrait, you wondered how this could have happened. You'd been married for almost a year, and you couldn't say that you'd been truly happy, but who is? Your mother had introduced you at a ball she had organized with the mere objective of getting you a husband. You were the eldest-and prettiest, or so they said-of your sisters, but you'd never had any desires of finding a husband. It's not that you didn't want to, to be honest, it's just that all men seemed the same to you: fancy demeanor, condescendence in their movements, desire and need in their eyes. You couldn't stand it. While your sisters were eager to find the perfect husband and settle down, you enjoyed your freedom. You loved reading, learning, understanding. You had learned how to ride a horse when you were a child, and it was the thing you enjoyed the most. Your father had gotten you a beautiful brown horse, his hazel eyes staring at you with curiosity when he first saw you. He was your best friend.

Your husband hadn't been a bad man. Not really. The problem was that you didn't truly love him. That wasn't something that could be forced, and you sometimes wondered if raise your family's status was really worth it if you had to live a miserable life. You were traumatized, it was true, but you couldn't say you were truly sad. You felt free, as if a huge weight had been lifted from your shoulders and you could finally walk straight again.

Her thoughts brought her back to the murder. The guards seemed to think you were crazy, they were having trouble picturing a random woman killing a man. They still had certain doubts about you, being a woman and all, but it would make a lot more sense if you'd done it. They also seemed to suspect of some of his younger relatives, who were wanting their inheritance. Your husband's family was the most important one in the country, and he had many relatives who wanted his money. With him out of the way, their cut was bigger.

His personal accountant came to see you that afternoon. Apparently, he left you the mansion the two of you lived in, and part of his money. That, and the money you already had thanks to your family, would allow you to live alone for the rest of your life, if you wished to.

That night, after all the lights were out and the city had gone to bed, you walked towards your balcony, dressed in your nightgown, and stood there. At first, you didn't really know what you were doing, you could only feel something inside your chest, something you had never felt before, as if a ball of fire was burning you from the inside. You ignored it and looked at the stars. You used to do that when you were younger, living in your parents' state. Your room had a beautiful sight of the countryside, and the starts always shone bright, the moon hovering among them, like a gentle mother, making them shine even brighter. It had always given you a sense of comfort and security, that even though you had no idea where you would be tomorrow, they would still be there, watching over you, guiding you through the darkness.

For some reason, you remembered the girl. Her beautiful, slender figure standing under the pure light of the moon. Even if no one believed you, you knew she was real. You were startled to realize the real reason you were there, in that balcony: you were waiting, waiting for her. The thought seemed completely ridiculous to you, but deep down, you knew it to be true.

 

* * *

 

Almost a moth had passed now and you found yourself, once again, waiting for this girl in the middle of the night, staring at the city from your balcony. You could barely sleep at night anymore, the thoughts of her keeping you up whether you wanted to or not.

The case of your husband's death was nowhere near to be closed, and you thought it would have been ignored by now if it weren't for the fact your in-laws were extremely interested in finding out who did it. They came to his funeral, of course, but didn't speak to you; they merely glanced in your direction, a cold resentment in their eyes, as if you had been the killer. You supposed that, to their eyes, you were. You didn't really care, his family had never been kind  to you anyway.

When you walked down the street, you could hear other women whispering, the pity and fear in their tone were clear as day. You had stopped going to social events; everyone looked at you with either pity or disgust, and not even one man would dare look your way. You were impure, corrupted, "damaged goods". You couldn't care less; men are pigs anyway, to your eyes at least.

You took your glance away from the stars and looked to the street. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of something that didn't belong there; it was a black horse and someone was riding it, standing in a dark alley, looking at you. You couldn't see who it is but you were sure it was her. When she saw you, she turned the horse around and rode away. You were frozen, and before you had time to react, she was gone. At least you now knew what to look for: a black horse.

You knew that, if you told anyone this, they would say you were crazy. And, to be honest, you might be; but you were still sure it was her. She had haunted your dreams ever since you first saw her that fatidic night. At least you were starting to remember more about that night-at least you think you were remembering instead of making it all up. The first thing you remembered was waking up to the sound of her soft, melodic voice saying "go back to sleep, my love." You hummed happily in response and kept sleeping, or so you believe. Then, you remember opening your eyes suddenly and seeing her, the beautiful girl in the white dress, jumping out the window. You still can't remember your face, but you can't shake the feeling that you know her from somewhere.

The next morning, you decided to go to the market. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and you were wearing your favorite dress. As you chose a few apples to take home, you caught the glimpse of a black horse and felt the same heat you felt that night in the balcony. You didn't need to look to know it was her, and so you dropped everything and started running. The horse was far, walking slowly in the opposite direction you were going. It's rider-the girl, you hoped-was wearing a black cape, with a hoodie that covered her face.

As you began running you yelled "Wait! Please!"

She seemed to hear you, because she tried to run away, but there were too many people on the streets. She got out of the main square and took a detour, riding through a small alley, the tall stone buildings making it look dark even though it was not even noon. You entered the alley and saw you were getting closer-probably because the alley was too narrow for the horse to run. Suddenly, the wind took her hoodie off her and she looked at you, a scared expression in her face.

She was the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen; pale skin, lips red like strawberries during summer, dark emerald eyes and a sharp jaw that seemed to have been carved in marble. You felt again like you'd seen her before, somewhere, but before you had time to react, she was gone. It wasn't until after you were home that you realized it was really her; she was the one who killed your husband. You knew it all along, but not that you had seen her face you were absolutely sure.

You couldn't deny it anymore, there was something pulling you towards that girl It wasn't just your husband's death, it was a connection way deeper than that one, one you couldn't explain through reason, one you wouldn't find an explanation on your precious books. You had to talk to her. It was the biggest need you'd ever felt. And somehow you knew chasing her wasn't the way, she would come to you, just as she did before. So you waited as patiently as you could, by the balcony, completely convinced that she would show up, when she was ready.

 

* * *

 

Two nights later, you were waiting by your balcony, a book in your hands and hope in your eyes. After it got too dark for you to keep reading, you gazed at the stars. It never ceased to amaze you how much beauty you could find in them. Sure, your books provided answers to most of you questions, but the stars were the ones that actually made you feel calm, sure, as if everything was where it was meant to be.

You felt cold and decided to look for clothes, inside. As you were getting ready to return to the balcony, you heard a noise outside. It was her, you knew it. When you turned around, there she was, a red rose in her hands, a shy smile on her face, warmth in her dark green eyes.

You stepped outside, getting closer to her and it was only then, under the light of the moon, that you realized how beautiful she really was. She was wearing a black, casual dress this time, and even though it was simple, she looked stunning.

You needed to say something, and yet no words came out, they all died on your lips as she stepped closer offering you the flower she was holding.

"For you, my lady" she said, her voice filled with an emotion you could not place.

"Thank you" you whispered, as if raising your voice would shatter this ethereal moment, bringing you back to reality.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Esmeralda"

All you could do is repeat her ne over and over in your head. You suddenly knew who she was; she was the only daughter of one of the most important families in the country. She was said to be a disgrace to her family, being a woman, but she had proved herself from a young age. Everyone always talked about her ability with the sword, her way with animals, and her beautiful voice that could put a mermaid's to shame. There was something off about her, or so they said, she had rejected every single man that had proposed to her. She seemed to have no interest in such matters, which drove her family insane. That's actually how you first saw her, in a ball organized by her family. You had attended with your husband, and it had been the first one you'd attended as a married couple. You remember staring discretely at her, doing your best to avoid it but failing every time. There was something pulling you towards her, and she seemed to feel it too. Now there she was, standing in your balcony, which God knows how she managed to climb, the murderer of your husband, something that right now seemed the least important thing in the world.

You leaned in, and so did she, and a moment later your lips were on hers and nothing mattered anymore. Not your family, not your husband-not even the fact you were kissing a woman, for crying out loud! It simply felt right, as if every moment of your whole life had been preparing you for this moment preparing you to feel this feeling, one you've never felt before and didn't want you unless it was for her. You had always been rational, looking for answers in books, searching explanations behind facts. You had never allowed yourself to really feel, without compromise, without consequence. It wasn't until this very moment, as your lips crashed into hers as if obeying some higher purpose, as if answering a prayer you didn't you had made, that you realized this was the answer you had been looking for all along. Maybe sometimes it's less about thinking, and more about feeling, isn't it?


End file.
